


Somewhere I Belong

by Jaiden_S



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaiden_S/pseuds/Jaiden_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beleg doesn’t like clingy children, sullen adolescents or presumptuous young men with minds of their own. In fact, he dislikes most everyone until a young apprentice worms his way into the crusty old Elf’s heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title – Somewhere I Belong  
> Author – Jaiden_S  
> Beta – Aglarien  
> Paring – Beleg/Turin  
> Rating – R  
> Archive – Ardor in August 2012 Challenge
> 
> Most of the story timeline, characters and details were taken from JRR Tolkien's The History of Middle Earth, Series 3 entitled "The Lay of the Children of Hurin." I did, however, combine the charactesr of Saeros (The Silmarillion) with the character of Orgof (Lay of Children of Hurin).

Chapter 1 – Year of the Sun, 472

The thick canopy of trees kept the forests of Doriath dark and foreboding, blotting out even the most persistent rays of the moon, just the way Beleg liked it. He picked his way among the rough underbrush that spread across the faint forest path, careful not to disturb any of the sleeping woodland creatures. Few Orcs dared to wander this close to Menegroth. Queen Melian’s spells kept all but the most foolhardy of the lot at bay. Still, be it by luck or by skill, one or two occasionally managed to sneak past the wards. Beleg was the last line of defense.

Despite the dangers of the forest, he enjoyed his time in the woods. He much preferred the unpredictable perils of the wilds to the more predictable dangers of the king’s court. A bear could be tracked. An Orc could be killed. A cunning advisor with an axe to grind might not be discovered until said axe was buried squarely between one’s shoulder blades. More often than not, he was the one dodging the axes. Most of the king’s advisors viewed him as an unnecessary expense and wanted to cut costs by reducing his time on patrol. Few of them understood that the price of not having Beleg on watch could be an unexpected visit from a party of Orcs. At least King Thingol recognized his value. For now. 

A young buck leapt across the trail just ahead, a curious sight for this late in the evening. Most deer had bedded down for the night. Something had roused him from his rest and driven him to move, and that gave Beleg concern. He tightened his grip on Belthronding, the enormous black yew bow that he carried, and headed in the direction from which the buck had come. The acrid smell of smoke pierced his nostrils. A fire? Even the most ignorant of Orcs wouldn’t be stupid enough to give away his location by lighting a fire. It had to be men. Only they would make that sort of tactical error.

Under the cover of darkness, he crept forward until he stood just outside of the anemic light of a struggling campfire. Two men, one quite aged and another somewhat younger, and a small boy sat huddled in a group. Fools. All of them. Not only were they a danger to themselves, they attracted unwanted attention to Menegroth.

Beleg stepped from behind the trees, arrow pointed directly at the younger man, and glared down at the cowering group. “Who are you and why are you here? Only outlaws travel this far into the enchanted woods!”

The man fell to his knees in front of Beleg. “We are no bandits! I swear to you we are but weary travelers, feint with hunger and thirst! We are lost and cannot find our way!”

Beleg arched a skeptical eyebrow. “You are far from any road that men would travel. What business do you have here?”

“We left from Dor-lómin weeks ago, and now we are hopelessly lost. The boy you see is Turin, son of Hurin Thaloin, Lord of the Folk of Hadir. The Lady Morwen, his mother, sends him to King Thingol for asylum. Gumlin and I are his guardians. I am Halog, servant of the Lady.”

Beleg eyed the thin, dark haired boy who lay cradled in the arms of the older man, and scowled. If they truly were seeking refuge, he could not turn them away. “Then the gods have guided you to safekeeping. I have heard of Hurin the Steadfast and his bravery in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Though that war ended, I remain in an unending battle with the Orcs who still prowl the forest. They are quite familiar with the sting of my arrows.” He lowered his bow and added, “I am the huntsman Beleg of the Hidden People. I will guide you to Menegroth.”

The men were overjoyed. “We have nothing to offer you, but please warm yourself by our fire!”

“The fire makes you an easy target for Orcs or anything else that may find you tasty, you idiots!” Beleg angrily kicked some dirt over the glowing coals and stomped them with his boots until the fire died completely. 

“We were cold and the boy needed the warmth.”

“Huddle together under your cloaks,” Beleg barked in response. “That’s what they are for.” The men nodded and unfolded their filthy cloaks. The unmistakable growl of an empty stomach rumbled through the silence. Beleg knew he should offer them some of his rations, but he did not want to. Was it his fault they did not pack enough food? A failure to plan on their part did not constitute an emergency on his part. When he realized it was his own stomach growling like a rabid badger, he reluctantly offered to share his wine and food. “I cannot let you starve before you reach Thingol’s court. He would never forgive me.” 

Turin stirred in Gumlin’s arms and blinked at Beleg with wide-eyed interest. “An Elf. A real live Elf! I always wanted to meet an Elf.”

“Then tonight is your lucky night,” Beleg said gruffly. He did not like children. They were messy, sticky and smelled like unwashed socks. 

Halog paused in-between bites just long enough to comment, “He is only eight. Forgive his curiosity.”

Gumlin finished the last of the Dor-Winion wine in Beleg’s flask and lay back on the cool pine needles, sated and sleepy. It had been a hard journey for the older man. In seconds, he was fast asleep. Halog, too, succumbed to sleep quickly. The boy, unfortunately, was wide awake and full of questions. Beleg eyed him with trepidation. His close-cropped hair stuck out at an odd angle on one side of his head. A smudge of dirt streaked across his left cheek. The remnants of the meat he just ate clung to the side of his mouth. Perhaps with a vigorous scrubbing, the boy would be presentable, but right now, he looked more like a stray dog than a child.

Turin moved over to sit closer to Beleg and reached up to tug the the Elf’s long mane of silver hair. “Why do you wear your hair this way?”

Beleg fought off an urge to scoot away. “It is my hair to do with as I please.” He smoothed his hair and pulled the long plait over his other shoulder so the boy couldn’t yank it again.

“Why do you wear trousers and boots and dress in gray and brown?”

“So that I do not frighten the squirrels.”

“You do not look like the other Elves. They were pretty. The ones I saw in Dor-lómin wore long robes of bright colors and braided their hair in all sorts of amazing designs. They carried large books with curious writing. Even the rings on their fingers were interesting. Large and shiny with blue and green stones.”

“Those were Elves from the King’s court, more suited to finery than fighting. Robes are not practical in the forest, and braids lead to tangled hair. I am a soldier and a huntsman and I am certainly not pretty.”

“No, you are more like a tree. You’re a silver oak.”

“I’ve been compared to much worse, so I shall take that as a complement.” The boy was more articulate than Beleg first thought. 

“Do you live in the forest?”

“No. I live in Menegroth, but I spend most of my time in the woods. It is where I belong.”

Turin wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t belong anywhere,” he whispered. 

Beleg felt terrible. He supposed he should offer the child some gesture of compassion, so blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Of course you do. You belong right here, with me.”

And with that, the child crawled right up into his lap. Beleg spent the rest of the night tentatively patting the boy’s ratty hair and wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

~*~

They reached Menegroth near the end of the following day. Beleg led them past murky swamps, thorny thickets, dangerous ravines and dark caves to the banks of Esgalduin River that flowed deep and clear near the entrance to the city itself. A great stone bridge spanned the sparkling river, leading to a foreboding set of wrought iron gates. Upon seeing Beleg, the guards who stood watch swung them open to allow the group entrance. The craggy hillside loomed large and menacing before them. 

“Where is Menegroth?” Turin asked.

“It is an underground city, built into the hillside itself and called the Thousand Caves. The entrance is there,” said Beleg, pointing to the gaping maw of a large, dark cave.

Turin’s eyes widened with both awe and fear and he reached for Beleg’s hand. “I’m scared.”

Beleg’s first inclination was to pull away, but the boy looked so lost that he gave his hand a little squeeze instead. “Don’t be. It is only a cave and I am right beside you.”

Nodding, Turin took a deep breath and stepped inside the cavern. Enormous stone pillars, carved to look like Beech trees rose dramatically as far as the eye could see. Leaves of silver and gold shone down from the ceiling. Lanterns and strings of twinkling lights gave the caverns an iridescent glow. Boughs of greenery and garlands of flowers arched over the tunnel entrances. Jeweled mirrors and finely woven tapestries depicting scenes from Elvish history hung from the walls. Large stone statues depicting each of the Vala surrounded a grand silver fountain that bubbled in the center of the main cavern. Spanning out in every direction were tunnels, each of which opened to another cavern that was as beautiful as the first. 

Beleg expertly navigated his group through the maze of caverns, until they found the magnificent Hall of Elu Thingol. Much like the main cavern, this one had ornately carved stone pillars. The ceiling glowed with silver leaves and sparkled with multi-colored gemstones. King Thingol himself sat on a throne of gleaming silver, dressed in silken robes of blue, trimmed in deep ebony. Members of his court sat in a semi-circle around him, each wearing the type of elegant robes that Turin remembered. A blue and black tile inlay of the Device of Elu Thingol, a winged moon surrounded by stars, graced the floor in front of the throne. 

While Beleg stepped forward to present Turin’s case, Turin stood quietly and tried not to fidget. A lean, dark-haired Elf with a long nose stared at him intently. Turin smiled. The Elf merely looked away.

“Turin, son of Hurin Thalion, you are welcome in Menegroth,” Thingol stated after hearing Beleg’s plea. “You shall join my court, not as slave or servant, but as an adopted son. May your time here be well spent, may your wisdom flourish to rival the wisest of men and may your skill in battle rise to that of the warrior Elves.”

“My Lord, are you certain it is wise to foster this child?” The dark-haired Elf glared at Turin. “What if he and his guardians are spies?”

Beleg narrowed his eyes. “One is eight, one is old and one wishes to return home tomorrow.”

“And what if they have led the enemy right to our doorstep?”

“I am the one who guided them here. Are you daring to suggest I do not know how to cover my tracks?” Beleg’s voice grew louder. “You, Saeros, who has not left the caverns for the better part of a decade, do not have the authority to criticize my abilities!”

“Enough!” King Thingol slammed his hand against the arm of his throne. “Beleg, take them to your quarters and get them settled for the night. Saeros, my decision is final.”

Beleg snatched Turin’s hand and whisked him from the throne room. Halog and Gulim ran behind, trying to keep up. “That,” growled Beleg, “is why I prefer to spend most of my time in the forest.”

“He doesn’t like me,” Turin said quietly.

“He doesn’t like me, either, and I do not care. He is a tea sipping, couch sitting, corset wearing, arrogant son-of-a-bitch who doesn’t know a broadsword from a breadbasket.”

“What is a son-of-a-bitch?”

“Nevermind.” Beleg made a mental note to watch his often colorful vocabulary.

By the time the men had settled their things, washed and readied themselves for bed, it was quite late. Beleg arranged three pallets on the floor in the one spare room that wasn’t filled with supplies and equipment. After seeing that Turin was thoroughly scrubbed from head to toe and tucked into his pallet, Beleg finally crawled into his own bed.

Though his dwelling lacked most of the finery found in other Elves’ homes, he did allow himself the luxury of a large bed covered in the finest linens and softest pillows mithril could buy. After weeks at a time spent sleeping perched on tree limbs or resting on pine needles, he deserved some comfort. He laid his head back against the goose down pillows and closed his eyes.

“Beleg?”

He grunted and opened his eyes to see Turin standing next to the bed, cheeks wet with tears. Without a word, he pulled back the blankets and patted the mattress next to him. Turin eagerly crawled in and snuggled up against him.

“Are you still afraid?”

“Not anymore.”

Beleg awoke the next morning clinging to the edge of the bed with a pair of bony knees planted squarely in the small of his back. He groaned. By the end of the day, the child would have a bed of his own and be taught to stay in it.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Halog, eager to return home, left the next day with a message of assurance from King Thingol and an invitation for Morwen to join her son in Menegroth. Beleg undertook the task of reorganizing his schedule to accommodate a young child.

Adding two more lodgers to an already small home took quite a bit of adjustment, but with some rearranging, Beleg turned his largest guestroom into suitable quarters. Gumlin settled in nicely. Turin seemed pleased enough with his small bed, though he had yet to spend a night in it. Every night for the past two weeks, he had appeared sniffling at the edge of Beleg’s bed. Every night, Beleg had reluctantly pulled back the covers and let him climb inside. Every morning, he awoke clinging to the edge of the bed with a pair of small, bony knees wedged into the small of his back. The tears of a small boy were enough to melt the resolve of even the strongest warrior.

His daytime routine, however, changed little. Gumlin assumed the role of tutor, sitter and general caretaker of Turin while Beleg continued to make his daily rounds on the edge of the city’s perimeter. Each night, Turin greeted him with cries of delight. 

“Beleg! You’re home!” He leapt from his seat at the desk and flung himself at Beleg, wrapping his arms around the tall Elf’s right leg.

“Indeed.” Beleg ruffled the boy’s hair. Were all children so clingy or was this one special? It felt strange to have someone miss him so much when he had only been away a few hours. Strange but nice. Nobody had ever missed him before. He glanced down at the boy, who wriggled with delight. If Turin had a tail, it would be feverishly wagging. At least he was housebroken.

“Has Halog returned with news from my mother?” Turin peered up at him with such a hopeful expression that Beleg had to look away.

“No, not yet, but it has only been two weeks. Have you forgotten how long it took you to reach Menegroth? The forest is dark and wild.”

“Oh. Of course,” sighed Turin.

Beleg pried himself away from Turin’s embrace, crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed. His feet felt like lead and the first thing he wanted to do was to take off his dusty boots and relax. His fingers dug at the laces until his right boot came loose. He yanked it off with a satisfied grunt and dropped it to the floor where it landed in a cloud of dust. Turin plopped down on the floor next to it.

“That boot is dirty,” Belig said.

“I know. I don’t care.” Turin idly twirled a muddy boot lace around his finger.

Was Turin bored? Hungry? Tired? Beleg stopped working on his left boot long enough to study the child. He could not tell. All three expressions looked the same to him.

“What is wrong?”

“I miss my mother.”

“Ah.” Beleg resumed working his laces. Mystery solved.

“Don’t you ever miss your mother?”

“I don’t have a mother.” He dropped the second boot on the floor and leaned back on the bed, resting his palms on the soft wool coverlet.

Turin’s eyes grew wide. “No? What about your father?”

“I don’t have a father, either.”

“Then, who took care of you when you were a little boy?”

“I was never a little boy. I awoke one day in the woods fully grown, just as I am now.”

“You never had a mother to tuck you in or a father to read you stories? You never played hide-and-go-seek? You never built castles out of sand or forts out of sticks or painted with your fingers? You never played?” 

Beleg pondered that for a moment. “No. I have never played.”

Turin rose to his feet and patted Beleg’s knee. “Tomorrow, I will teach you how to play. We will start with hide-and-go-seek.”

“What if I don’t want to play?” If finger painting involved dipping one’s fingers into actual paint, Beleg felt certain that he did not want to play.

“Of course, you want to play. Everyone wants to play. You just don’t know how.”

Before Beleg could mount a suitable argument against an upcoming playdate, a messenger from Thingol’s court arrived at the door. “The King requests the company of Turin, son of Hurin, in his hall immediately. A party has arrived from Dor-lómin.”

“Mother!” Turin grabbed Beleg’s crusty boots and thrust them at him. “Hurry!”

Beleg pulled them on as quickly as he could and joined Turin and Gumlin in the anti-chamber to the throneroom. “Remember,” he said, “do not address King Thingol unless he speaks to you first. And let me do most of the talking.”

A court steward called them forward, and they stepped into the center of the majestic cavern. Thingol sat ensconced on his throne, surrounded by the members of his advisory team. To the left stood a very weary messenger from Dor-lómin, bearing a large trunk. He knelt, unrolled a scroll and began to read.

“Greetings and salutations, King Thingol of Menegrath. I appreciate the generosity of your invitation to come to Doriath, but as long as hope of Hurin’s return remains, I must abide here with my daughter. May the contents of this chest express my gratitude for receiving and fostering my dear son, Turin. I am forever in your debt. Lady Morwen.”

King Thingol motioned for his advisors to bring the chest forward. “What a grand treasure she has sent!” He seemed quite pleased and rose to inspect the offerings more closely.

“Ah! The Helm of Hador!” He held aloft a visored steel helm, embossed and embellished with gold, that bore as its crest the head of Glaurung the Dragon. It wore the scarred legacy of many great battles. “Valiant and strong was the man who upheld this helm with the token of the towering dragon, and mighty were the hammers of old that mingled their magic therin. Store this away, Turin, until manhood calls you to battle, then bravely don it.”

Saeros laughed from his seat near the throne. “He will never don that! It’s nearly as large as he is!”

Beleg took the helm from Thingol’s outstretched hands. It was enormous, far too heavy for a child to wear and likely too cumbersome for most full-grown men to use. Even an Elf as large as himself would find it a challenge to wield.

Turin’s chin began to tremble. “Where is Mother? I thought she was coming here to join me.” He looked up at Beleg with brimming eyes. “Why isn’t she here?”

Beleg dropped to one knee. “She must have chosen to remain behind. Perhaps she thought staying there would keep you from danger,” he offered, unsure of the reason himself. “But she sent your father’s helm and sword to protect you. One day, you will wield them just as he did.”

Turin could not even raise the helm, so Beleg gently placed it on his head. It dropped so low over his eyes that it covered most of his face. Like the helm, the sword proved too heavy for him to lift. His knees began to buckle under the weight. The helm fell from his head with a clatter.

“A true warrior,” called Saeros. “He strikes fear in the hearts of all who see him.” Laughter tittered through the assembled crowd.

A shudder wracked through Turin’s body as a sob welled up from his chest. “I can’t.”

“You can and you will. Do not listen to them. Look at me.” Beleg tucked his finger under Turin’s chin and raised his head until their eyes met. “I will teach you to use a bow and a sword, and I swear to you that by the time you are an adult, you will be the most fearsome warrior in all of Menegroth. All those who mock you now will one day sing your praises.”

Turin swiped at a tear and nodded. 

Beleg stood and faced the court, his fists clenched in fierce determination. “I shall take Turin to be my ward and apprentice. From now on, he will stay with me.”

As they made their way back to Beleg’s dwelling, Saeros met them in the hallway. “The cur and his stray. How very charming.”

“What is a cur?” asked Turin.

“A mangy dog, more at home in the wild,” Saeros responded with a smirk.

“A fierce hound who bites when one least expects,” countered Beleg.

“Careful. That could be considered a threat.” Saeros’ expression darkened.

“Consider it however you wish.”

Saeros’ smirk twisted into a glare. “What a fool you are, taking that runt of a child as an apprentice. Look at him! He will never be a warrior. It’s a waste of your time and a misappropriation of our city’s finite resources to train him, but, then you are attracted to lost causes. Maybe you two belong together.”

“This coming from an Elf whose hands are better suited for pouring tea than wielding a sword. Leave your politics and rhetoric for the court and leave the forging of Doriath’s next great warrior to me.” Beleg pushed him out of the way and dragged Turin behind him.

The next morning Beleg awoke clinging to the edge of the bed with a pair of bony knees lodged squarely in the small of his back. He began to worry. Maybe it had been foolish of him to take on the boy as an apprentice. Behind him, Turin stirred in his sleep. Beleg gave the boy’s shoulder a reassuring pat and closed his eyes. Only time would tell.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Year of the Sun 476

It was a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly in the sky, the wind gently ruffled the tall grass and butterflies danced atop pink and purple wildflowers. Beleg crossed the sloping meadow to the flat training grounds behind Menegroth. After two weeks patrolling the forest for Orcs, he was glad to be home. In the distance stood Turin, his long black hair whirling wildly round his face as he reached for another arrow. He drew back the bow, taking aim at a sackcloth target, and hit the center of it with a loud thwap. Beleg was impressed.

“You have been practicing,” he called, cupping his hands round his mouth.

Turin whipped around, his face lighting up in a grin. “Beleg!” He slung his bow over one shoulder and raced to him, wrapping him up in a fierce hug.

Beleg smiled and returned the embrace. At twelve, the boy was lean and strong and nearly reached his shoulder. “Your form is excellent.”

“It should be. I learned it from the best.” Turin grinned up at him. “Did you just get home?”

“Yes, and I should be here for a couple of weeks. You’re in good spirits. Did Saeros break wind during the council meeting?”

Turin laughed. “No, but that would have made it a lot more interesting. I received a long letter from Mother. She and my little sister are doing well.”

“Ah.” Beleg should have known. Turin’s spirits rose and fell with the arrival or delay of those damned letters. Though he knew Morwen was doing what she thought was best for the boy, he wished she would either come to Menegroth or stop writing altogether. Watching the ebb and flow of Turin’s emotions ate at Beleg’s heart.

“One day soon, I’m going to return home and surprise them,” Turin said.

“We’ll see. Maybe when you are older.”

Turin frowned. “But you said I’m already a better marksman than most of your soldiers!”

“True, but you are still a child.”

“I’m not a child,” huffed Turin. He crossed his arms defiantly.

“A boy, then. A boy who still likes to play tag.” Beleg paused for a split second, then smacked Turin on the arm. “You’re it!” he called over his shoulder as he dashed back toward the Thousand Caves.

Turin stayed still for a stunned moment before whooping and giving chase. “Not for long!”

~*~

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing, stopping only when the sun sank low on the horizon. 

“Come on,” Turin said, tugging at Beleg’s sleeve. “Gumlin will be angry if we are late for dinner.”

“Wait, wait. The old Elf needs a break.” Beleg leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Hiking the woods was one thing. Chasing a twelve year old with boundless energy and enthusiasm was quite another.

“How old are you, anyway?” teased Turin.

“Right now, I feel older than dirt, but I’m still young enough to beat you at tag.” Beleg laughed when Turin stuck out his tongue. “How are your lessons going with Gumlin?”

“Fine, I guess…but, I want to know more about Menegroth and Doriath. I want to know more about Elves. Gumlin can’t teach me any of that.”

Beleg furrowed his brow. He knew Turin wanted more than anything for him to give up his position as Marchwarden and stay at home with him, but Beleg refused. As much as he loved the boy, he could not remain in Menegroth day in and day out. He was far too restless for that.

“I will ask Nellas of Doriath, Lady of the Wood, if she will take you on as a student. You can learn more from her in one week than you could in a year with me.”

Turin nodded, but Beleg saw the look of disappointment in his eyes. It was almost enough to make him reconsider. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind the boy’s ear. “You could see the target better if you pulled your hair back.”

“It’s my hair to do with as I please,” replied Turin with a grin. 

For dinner, they shared a large rabbit and roasted vegetables next to the fire in Beleg’s den. Exhausted from the day, they decided to retire early.

After a warm bath, Beleg donned his nightshirt and slid between the cool cotton sheets. Perfect. The other side of the bed dipped as Turin sat down and pulled back the covers.

“Stop. Did you wash your feet?”

“Yes.”

“With soap?”

“…I’ll be right back.”

“What have I told you about getting into my clean bed with dirty feet?” Beleg chuckled and laced his fingers behind his head. That boy never changed.

A few minutes later, Turin returned and placed a freshly scrubbed foot in Beleg’s lap. “Satisfied?”

Beleg grinned up at Turin, who swam in one of the Elf’s old nightshirts. The hem of it fell well below his knees. “I suppose. Aren’t you too old to be climbing into bed with me?” 

Turin crawled over him, making a point to sink his knee into Beleg’s stomach. “You’re the one who called me a child. I’m just trying to meet your expectations.”

“Get off of me!” Beleg swatted the boy’s rump with the back of his hand. “What if I did that to you?”

“You’d break me in half. You’re enormous.”

“Yet you are the one who takes up most of the bed.”

Turin giggled. “I promise not to move from this very spot.”

Beleg snorted and rolled over on his side. 

The next morning he awoke clinging to the edge of the bed with a pair of bony knees planted squarely in the small of his back. He smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Year of the Sun 479

 

A month in the forest passed in the wink of an eye. When a lifespan is measured in centuries rather than decades, it moves quickly. Beleg returned to his humble flat exhausted and expecting a warm welcome. Instead, he received the stony glare of a sullen adolescent, whose current mood was as stormy as a cyclone.

“I’m home after a month of patrolling and I am greeted by a boy with all the warmth of a just-roused warg. Where is my hug?” asked Beleg. He dropped his pack on the floor and watched as Turin finished adding one of several tiny Elvish braids to his long dark hair.

“Hugs are for children. I’m late for council.” Turin brushed past Beleg without so much as a smile and blew out the door.

Incredulous, Beleg turned to Gumlin. “I have spent the last month sleeping in trees in order to keep everyone in Menegroth safe and the thanks I get is that?! What turned his mood so foul?”

Gumlin shook his head. “King Thingol requested his presence at council and he didn’t want to go. Add to that the lack of any correspondence from home and you have an exceptionally moody young man.”

“I should have known.” Beleg gritted his teeth. Damned Morwen. Some days, he’d like nothing more than to give her a good shake. How she could let months go by between letters he did not understand. 

“He’s lonely and he misses his mother. He misses you, too. Not a day passes that he doesn’t ask when you will be home.”

“I am a Marchwarden. My job requires me to be in the forest. What would you have me do?”

“I would have you spend less time on patrol and more time here with Turin! He needs someone in his life other than a guardian and a tutor. I’m an old man. He needs guidance and he needs it from you.”

“He is Thingol’s adopted son. Take it up with him.”

“You know that is in name only. Since when has the King taken the slightest interest in the day-to-day activities of Turin?” Gumlin jabbed his index finger right into Beleg’s chest. “You wanted him to be your apprentice. Take some responsibility!”

Beleg sighed. “Has he become that difficult?”

“He’s a good boy, but a boy nevertheless. Despite his self-sufficient air, he’s struggling. Fifteen is a difficult age. His body is changing, his hormones are raging, and he’s trying to find his pathway from child to adult.”

“How are his lessons? Is he giving you any trouble?”

“He’s bright, articulate, intelligent, eager…but he’s having problems connecting with the other young Elves. Other than a few close friends, he keeps to himself and he seems unsure around the Elleth.” Gumlin gave Beleg a pointed look. “Have you had the talk with him yet?”

“What talk?” Beleg looked confused for a split second before realization dawned on him.  
“Oh. I thought you were going to do that.”

“You are his best friend and confidant. That sort of thing should come from you…if he doesn’t already know it. The other young Elves have likely told him quite a bit about basic anatomy, but you wouldn’t want him to hear the wrong things or fall prey to misconceptions. And besides, many young men his age have already fathered children.”

The thought of Turin being old enough to spread his seed around was enough to make Beleg’s head hurt. “I see your point.”

Gumlin patted his arm and turned to go. “You’re a good Elf, Beleg. He’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

A dull throbbing began behind his left eye. Beleg leaned against his desk and rubbed it with the back of his hand. Sex? Now? Fifteen seemed terribly young, and, to be honest, he wasn’t quite sure where to start. His own experiences had been so long ago, they seemed like ancient history. Gumlin was right, though. He had to do something. It wouldn’t do for Turin to fumble his way through his first encounter without any knowledge or guidance. Unfortunately, there were other, more pressing matters at hand.

With the title of Marchwarden came the responsibility of reporting to the council what he had seen and heard in the field. They could then decide where and for how long to send the troops the next month. Beleg decided that now was as good a time as any to report in from patrol. His head already ached, so why not just get it over with? He made his way to the throne room just in time to see Turin address the council.

The sour boy who stomped out the door just a few minutes earlier bore only a passing resemblance to the polished young man who now spoke so eloquently to the King. Other members of the council asked questions of his education and training, each of which he handled with graceful ease. Beleg watched intently. Where had Turin learned to speak so well in council? It certainly wasn’t from him. He stammered and stumbled and often lost his temper when questioned. Turin had them all hanging on his every word.

When Turin finished, he took his seat to the right of King Thingol and Beleg approached the court to brief the council on the latest field reports. Bands of marauders, both human and Orcish, roamed the hillsides just past the borders. Beleg voiced his concerns that one or more of them might slip past the guards and gain entrance to the land around Menegroth. 

“We need more troops,” Beleg stated, matter of fact. “Two Marchwarden and a handful of guards cannot hope to keep the darkness at bay for much longer.”

Saeros leaned forward, resting his chin on his fingers. “I have reviewed the ledgers and there are no funds to hire any additional troops. We need the money to improve infrastructure around the northern entranceway to the caves.”

“Without additional guards, you may have an Orcish battalion from Angband charge through the northern entranceway and invite themselves to dinner before any repairs can begin.” Saeros rolled his eyes, which made Beleg’s blood pressure rise. He gritted his teeth and added, “why can’t you understand how important a good defense is to the well-being of our citizens? A hundred new silver fountains are of no importance if the city itself is no longer safe.”

“Sir, if I could?” Turin stood, smoothed his blue robes with his hands and turned to address the King. “The cost to feed and shelter ten more guards in the field is actually quite minimal. If we changed the renovation designs on the north entranceway from three carved columns to two, we could easily afford the additional troops.” 

Beleg cut his eyes over to where Saeros sat in open-mouthed amazement and bit back a grin. He couldn’t have been more pleased than if Turin had felled a charging oliphaunt with only one arrow. “He’s right. It costs little and would add to your peace of mind, my King.”

“Then make it so,” Thingol said with a wave of his hand. 

After a few more minutes of pointless rhetoric and mind-numbing budget discussions, Beleg slipped out the side door and made his way home. Perhaps after a stiff drink, he could make sense of Turin and his wild swings in behavior.

Beleg closed the door behind him and turned toward the bedroom. A crumpled ball of white cotton lay partially hidden under the bed. Curious, he walked closer and discovered a carelessly discarded nightshirt in a wad on the floor. He poked it with the toe of his boot which left a brown smudge on the white cotton. If it hadn’t already been dirty, it certainly was now. With a sigh, he plucked it between two fingers and carried it in front of him to the washroom.

There, strung on a line from one side of the washroom to the other, hung four wet nightshirts, all belonging to Turin. Today wasn’t wash day. Beleg’s eyes narrowed. 

Turin suddenly appeared behind him like a ghostly apparition and grabbed the nightshirt from Beleg’s hand. “Where did you find that?”

“On the floor next to the bed. Why are all these nightshirts wet?”

Quickly, Turin placed the dirty one in the basin began to fill it with water. “I had some accidents while you were gone.”

“You wet the bed? You should have told me right away so I could have changed the sheets.”

“No. Not those kind of accidents.” Turin blushed furiously and dropped his head so his hair covered his face. “Dreams.”

“Oh. Oh.” Beleg felt the heat rise in his own cheeks. Eru. Was he old enough for those? “Well, you still should have told me. Does this happen often?”

“Every night. I usually wash out the other nightshirt and put on a clean one but I lost the clean one and got behind on my laundry and didn’t realize you would be arriving home today until early this morning and didn’t get it off the floor and the shirts are still wet…” his words came out in an embarrassed rush.

“I need to sit.” Beleg sank onto the edge of the tub and rubbed his temples with his fingers. His headache was back with a vengeance. “So, I’m assuming you already know about all the mechanics of why that happens…right?”

“Of course. I’m not twelve.”

“…you’re not doing it are you? Having sex, I mean?”

“No!” cried Turin. He scrubbed at the nightshirt in the basin with a rough bar of soap. “They’re just dreams.”

“Thank Eru,” Beleg breathed. “Is there an Elleth you like?”

“They’re all too hard to figure out.”

Beleg swallowed hard and plowed ahead. “An Elf, perhaps?”

Turin gave him a sharp look. “Why do you care?”

Beleg reached out and caught him by the wrist. “Because you’re like a brother to me and I love you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” mumbled Turin. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He jerked his wrist away and rushed out of the washroom, leaving the soapy nightshirt in the basin.

With a sigh, Beleg shook his head and picked up the sopping nightshirt. That went well.

~*~

Turin spent the afternoon steadfastly avoiding Beleg. He threw himself into mathematics lessons, history lessons and Elvish grammar. Gumlin was pleased. Any change in demeanor from that of a sullen adolescent was a welcome surprise.

In the meantime, Beleg spent much of his afternoon trying to rearrange his patrolling schedule. Gumlin was right. Turin needed him to be home more often than he had been. The thought of being cooped up in the Thousand Caves made him restless, and the thought of having to attend council meetings made him nauseated, but it couldn’t be helped. By the end of the afternoon, he had completely re-written the schedule, making sure he was at home most nights. Mablung, the other Marchwarden, would have to pick up the slack.

That evening, Beleg lay in the bed and wondered how to best broach the lingering awkwardness from earlier. Nearby, Turin pulled a nearly dry nightshirt over his head. His gangly arms tangled in the damp sleeves as he jerked it down. At this age, he was all knees and elbows, awkward as a young colt.

“Hurry up.” Beleg patted the spot on the bed next to him. “I’ll die of old age before you finish changing.”

Turin rolled his eyes, but joined him regardless, settling onto his side of the bed with an annoyed flounce. “Fine.”

“What happened to the sweet little boy who could not wait for me to return home?”

“He grew up.” Turin crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes, he did…you did, and you’re becoming quite a young man. The way you handled yourself in court today was nothing short of amazing. You outshone some of the most polished orators on the council. Perhaps you have a future in politics.” 

“Not that you’ll be around to see it.”

Beleg’s brow creased with concern. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re never here. You’re always in the field. You won’t let me join you. You never send word back to me. One day you’ll die out there and leave me all alone.” 

So, that was the reason for the cold shoulder. “I’m not going to die.”

“Everyone dies.”

“Not me. I’m going to stay here in Middle Earth long enough to make sure you’re miserable and embarrassed for the rest your life. Speaking of embarrassing, we need to finish our talk from earlier.”

Turin groaned and rolled over onto his side. “Ugh. I said I already know all that.”

“But I want to make sure you know the facts.” Beleg’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Where shall I begin? Are you familiar with the term ‘erection’? What about ‘intercourse’?”

“Stop it!” Turin grabbed a pillow and shoved it over his head.

Beleg began speaking in a high falsetto. “When an Elf loves an Elleth, he wants to express it physically, which usually results in vaginal penetration. First, the Elf’s penis becomes rigid and…”

Turin clamped the pillow over his head so tight that his fingers turned white.

Beleg snatched the pillow away and raised his voice yet another octave. “…the foreskin retracts, meaning he is ready to copulate. The female’s external reproductive organs become engorged with blood and flush the most lovely shade of pink.” He sounded like a deranged dowager.

“If you don’t stop, I swear I will kill you in your sleep.” 

“And then her vagina opens like a flower!” sang Beleg, just before a large feather pillow hit him right in the face.

“If I promise to keep my trousers on at all times, will you just shut up?” Turin’s face, red from embarrassment, broke into a sheepish grin.

“It’s a deal.” Beleg laughed and tossed the pillow back.

Turin’s grey eyes darkened. “Do you have a lover?”

“It is difficult to have a lover when one’s bed is occupied by a moody teen who soils the sheets. Besides, I have little time for that sort of thing. Patrols keep me busy. And, like you said, I’m never here.”

“If you ever want to bring someone home, just tell me. I can sleep in the guest room.”

“That won’t be an issue. Nobody is interested in a cranky old Elf who prefers campfire tales to candlelight and romance. Now, go to sleep or I’ll tell you about other methods of penetration.”

Turin grumbled and rolled over. 

Beleg awoke the next morning to an empty bed and the sound of splashing in the washroom. He grinned and went back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Year of the Sun 482

 

Beleg hoisted his pack higher on his shoulder. His time in the field had been longer than expected. The packs of Orcs roaming the edges of Doriath grew larger and bolder. Skirmishes flared up along the borders. Morgoth moved as he pleased. The evil of Angband drew closer. War was coming. He frowned, lost in thought as he traveled the narrow forest pathway.

Out of nowhere, a strong arm wrapped round his chest and a cold blade bit into the tender flesh of his neck. “What is an Elf doing wandering alone in the woods? He should take care to not be caught unaware,” breathed a voice in his ear.

“And what is a young man doing growling in my ear with breath horrible enough to fell a warg at fifty paces? Have we not discussed the use of mint leaves?” Beleg shoved his elbow into the boy’s stomach and stomped down hard on his toes, eliciting a groan of pain. The arm holding him fast loosened enough for Beleg to duck away, grinning. “But I must commend you on your ability to track me. I had no idea you were around.”

Turin rubbed his sore stomach and laughed. “It was like following a wounded elk. You should be more careful.”

“Normally I am, but today I was preoccupied. I’m thankful you found me first.” Beleg opened his arms and wrapped his friend up in a big hug. Had the boy grown in the few short months he had been gone? They were now nearly the same height, and the broadness of Turin’s shoulders surprised him.

Turin took a step back and studied him from top to bottom. “You look well. When you did not return on schedule, I feared for your safety.” His grey eyes clouded.

“I should have written and for that I am truly sorry.”

“The letters from Mother have stopped coming as well. I have no news of her or my sister.”

Beleg said nothing, but gave his friend’s arm a squeeze. The discussion of returning to check on his mother had come up before, but Beleg had forbidden him to leave. Once Turin turned eighteen, he had become even more restless. It would be difficult to keep him in Menegroth much longer, and once he left the protection of Melian’s realm, Beleg could not guarantee his safety.

They walked quickly, matching each other stride-for-stride as Turin updated Beleg on his training. Not only was he the only undefeated swordsman in the training arena, he also held the title of Superior Marksman, awarded to those missing fewer than 2% of their archery targets.

“I’m very proud of you, Turin. You will be an excellent soldier one day.” Beleg smiled, but his insides began to churn. He knew what was coming next.

“I want to join you on patrol.” 

And there it was. “Out of the question.”

“But I am the most skilled swordsman in all of Menegroth.” Turin’s voice remained calm, but his brows knitted together in frustration.

“Besting an opponent in a sparring ring does not mean your skills are good enough to slay an Orc. You’re not going. End of discussion.” Beleg turned again toward home, but Turin did not move.

“Why do you keep denying my request to join you?”

“Because you are not ready for battle. You are too young, too inexperienced and too naïve on the reality of warfare.” Beleg picked up his pace, not caring if Turin caught up to him or not. By the time he reached the gates of Menegroth, Turin was nowhere to be seen.

Once at his desk, Beleg pored over his notes from the field and began to compile a list of supplies to take with him when he returned to camp. He was exhausted. Staring at smudged notes and worrying about an impulsive boy with a mind of his own did not help. Exhaling deeply, he dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. Somewhere behind him, a door opened and closed. The heavy thump of boots echoed down the hallway, ending at last a few feet behind him. He sighed heavily. Here we go again.

“Turin, I have not changed my mind in the last twenty minutes so another round of arguments will do no good.”

“I’m not here to argue. I only want you to see me for the man I have become.”

Beleg rubbed his temples. “I am trying. I really am, but I have a hard time seeing you as anything other than a young apprentice.”

“Then look again.”

Beleg turned in his chair, ready to list all of the reasons why Turin needed stay behind, but the words died on his lips. Towering above him stood a daunting swordsman not unlike those great Elvish warriors depicted on the murals in the Hall of Thingol. The Dragon-Helm of Hador rested atop his head, the gleaming silver dragon matching the steely gray eyes that glinted beneath the visor. From the broad shoulders encased in thin mithril chainmail to the large calloused hands that gripped the hilt of his father’s sword, Turin looked formidable enough to take down a hoard singlehandedly. Anyone who met him on the battlefield would be awestruck. He was both fearsome and stunning.

“Ten years ago, you promised me I would join you in battle when I reached manhood. That time is now.” 

Beleg slumped in his chair. He could not argue. The Turin who stood before him was no longer a boy, but a man. A man impressive enough to strike fear in the heart of any Orc who should be unlucky enough to cross his path. “If you insist on coming, I will not stop you.”

Turin broke into a wide smile. “I will pack my belongings tonight.”

“Do not be so eager,” Beleg said bitterly. “Life in the border camps is hard, and the Orcs of Angband attack with violent precision at any time of the day or night.”

“I know that.” Turin crossed the room quickly and knelt by the Elf’s chair. “But, I am destined to be a warrior, just as my father was. Can you not see this is my fate?”

Beleg met Turin’s pleading gaze. As their eyes locked, images flashed through Beleg’s mind: blood, fear, pain, death. An aura of darkness. Was this truly Turin’s fate? He blinked and looked away. “We will leave here at dawn. Make whatever preparations you should tonight.”

Turin cupped Beleg’s jaw and turned his gaze back toward him. “I have been praying for the day to come when I could stand by your side as your equal. Please be happy for me. It is all I have ever wanted.”

The hand against Beleg’s cheek felt warm and tender, yet the familiar touch left him unexpectedly flustered. Annoyed with himself, he pushed Turin’s hand away and forced a tight-lipped smile. “It will be an honor to serve next to you.”

Though Turin’s eyes clouded with confusion, he nodded and turned to go. “Until tonight, then.”

Beleg turned back to his paperwork, but the letters swam on the page. Turin truly had become a man, both in stature and disposition. He sighed and closed his eyes. “I cannot keep you safe any longer. Eru, help me.”

~*~

Later that night, Beleg sat under the bedcovers, propped up against the padded headboard and reviewed his list of supplies one more time. The soft sound of bare feet on stone tile roused him from his reading and he looked up. Turin crossed the room, wearing nothing but a pair of loose sleeping pants, and paused to review the notes Beleg had left on his desk. His chest was broader than Beleg had realized. The heavy sword he wielded had defined well-hewn muscles in his shoulders, back and arms that rippled as he moved. The sun had kissed the skin on his face and neck, and tinted the hair around his face with a reddish hue. Turin raised his head and caught Beleg staring. 

“What? I think I have finished packing. Is there anything I may have forgotten?” Turin asked.

Beleg flushed, then felt foolish for doing so. “No. I believe you have everything.”

Turin tucked a stray lock of long hair behind one ear and crawled into bed.

Unlike every night before this one, Beleg felt keenly aware of every movement the young man made. Each flip of the man’s dark hair caused Beleg’s heart to flutter. Each roll of his body against the sheets caused him to catch his breath. The musk of his warm skin filled Beleg to the brim with a stirring that he could not quite define. It wasn’t until Turin felt the heat of his gaze and rolled over to meet it that Beleg truly knew: he wanted Turin. 

“Is something wrong? I know you are nervous about tomorrow, but I am ready, and you will be proud of me. I was born for this.” Turin placed a hand on Beleg’s thigh. It burned like a firebrand.

“I think you should sleep in your own bed tonight.” 

Turin sat up, alarmed. “Why? I have slept with you for ten years. What has changed?”

“You are a man. If I did not see that before, I certainly see that now.”

“And men can’t share a bed, because…?” 

Frustration and desire crashed through Beleg like a thunderhead and he pushed Turin down to the mattress. “Do you know what men do in bed? Have you even the slightest idea?” To prove his point, Beleg slid one hand down the length of Turin’s torso until it rested right between his legs.

Turin’s face flamed to a bright red. “Yes.”

“Unless you are prepared to do that, leave my bed. I am too old and too tired to resist temptation.”

Nodding, Turin pushed Beleg away and climbed back out of the bed to find his own.

Too late, Beleg realized he had given voice to the feeling that churned in his heart. He had admitted aloud his desire for Turin, taken too far the bonds of friendship, pushed them into something more than the boy could be expected to handle.

With a frustrated growl, he rolled over on his side. Sleep came in fits and starts. And for the first time in ten years, he awoke in the center of his bed, alone.

~*~

Conflicts rose along the borders of Menegroth as Morgoth’s forces grew closer. The Orcs pushed the boundaries, daring to risk the sting of Elvish arrows and the pain of unsheathed swords. Turin and Beleg traveled with reinforcements to the north marches, where many of the troops were posted, bearing supplies and rations. No sooner had they arrived than battle found them. Orcish troops descended on the camp like a pack of wolverines, hacking and tearing at everything in sight. Without hesitation, Turin unsheathed his sword and attacked. The first five Orcs fell in quick succession, though the sixth put up a nominal fight. The Orc struck the Dragon-Helm with the blade of his sword, which shattered on contact. Dumbfounded, the Orc stood rooted in shock as the shards of his blade fell around him. Turin lopped off his head before he could move.

Beleg’s heart rose in his throat with every swing of Turin’s broadsword, but his fears were unfounded. Turin’s movements were fluid, yet powerful and precise enough to kill an enemy with a single blow.

After hours of fighting, the Orcs fell back, retreating to the Northlands once more. Though the Elvish troops were fewer in number, Beleg felt confident that no Orcs had slipped through their line of defense. Exhausted, he walked over to where Turin stood examining his helm. Not a scratch was on it, nor on him.

“As long as you wear it, no harm will befall you. Powerful magic protects you,” Beleg said. He had never been so happy to have a legend proven true. 

Turin turned a hollow gaze to his friend. “War is more brutal than I ever imagined.”

Beleg gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Now you know why I did not want you to join me.”

“And now you know why I was desperate to do so.” Turin covered Beleg’s hand with his own. “If I ever lost you, I would be devastated.”

The action caught Beleg off guard and he yanked his hand free. “I am too mean and cantankerous to die. Mandos would toss me back to Middle Earth in a heartbeat.”

“I know better than that.”

Beleg and looked away. “Find a place to rest. The captains and I have much to discuss.” He felt the weight of Turin’s gaze as he walked away. 

~*~

Days turned into weeks. The assault of Orcs seemed neverending and the band of Elves grew weary. Supplies dwindled. When Mablung and his battalion of reinforcements arrived from the south, Beleg suggested that he and Turin return to Menegroth to rest and restock.

“Why leave now and deny me a chance to watch ‘He who Wears the Helm’ in action,” said Mablung. He slapped Turin on the arm. “That is what the Orcs call you now. They whisper that you are part werewolf or wizard and cannot be defeated. One glimpse of that Dragon-helm and they flee.”

Turin’s eyes glinted. “And they should. My goal is to kill every last one of them.”

“Let’s go, Orcslayer,” said Beleg with a wry smile. “If we hurry, we can make Menegroth before nightfall.”

The pair traveled quickly, taking the path through the heart of the forest. Beleg knew the way and expertly bypassed the wards Melian had in place. Just as he predicted, they reached the Thousand Caves not long after the sun dipped below the horizon.

After nearly three months in the field, Beleg could think of nothing he wanted more than a warm bath and a soft bed to rest his aching body. After he bathed, he slipped into his nightshirt and climbed between the cool, crisp sheets. He snuggled down into the featherbed and sighed with contentment.

Yet the minute he closed his eyes, his mind filled with images of Turin. The graceful way he moved on the battlefield, the deadly precision with which he wielded his sword, the artful dance of lethal agility, the wild savagery that mingled with his untamed beauty. There were times that Beleg paused on the battlefield and simply watched in awe. It was more than a swell of pride in the success of a beloved student or the comradery between soldiers or even the affection of a best friend and brother. It was passion, and it burned through Beleg like a wildfire in a dusty field. Every inch of him was aflame, all the time and he did not know how to manage it. Turin knew – he had to know, for Beleg did a poor job of hiding it. He only hoped that he could suppress it enough to keep their relationship intact. One wrong move, one instant of a dropped guard or a misplaced touch and it would all go up in smoke.

A noise at the foot of the bed startled him, and he raised his head. There stood Turin silhouetted in the silver moonlight, his skin moist and glistening from the bath, his hair in damp ringlets.

“Turin?” Beleg propped himself up on one elbow and his breath caught in his chest. 

“Let me in.”

Beleg’s face hardened.”We have already had this discussion.”

Turin took a step forward and dropped the towel that had clung to his hips. “I know what it means. Let me in.”

Unmoving, Beleg’s eyes flashed like lightning on a hot summer night. Oh, how he knew he should turn the man away, but his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest and he knew at once he was powerless against it. 

The side of the bed dipped. The mattress quivered as Turin crawled closer. Beleg’s skin tingled with electric anticipation. Warm fingertips grazed his chest, and he flinched. The bed rocked as Turin moved to straddle him. Beleg tried to resist. “There are other Elves who would make more suitable partners. Younger Elves. Elves who are not so cynical and rough.” 

Turin pressed his full lips against the curve of Beleg’s neck “I want you. Only you. Always you.” 

Desire raced through Beleg like floodwaters over a swollen riverbank and he slid his hands up Turin’s muscular back. “Once we cross the threshold, there is no going back.” 

“I do not want to go back.” Tender kisses trailed up the side of Beleg’s jaw, grazed over his chin, nibbled at his lower lip before they claimed his mouth completely. Their warm mouths melted together in a heated kiss, tongues swirling like liquid silk, teeth nipping and biting feverishly at swollen lips. The kiss deepened, rolling through him until he felt it in his knees. It owned him and he yielded willingly. Whatever hesitations remained lodged in Beleg’s heart dissolved in the heat of Turin’s assault. 

And it was an assault. Skilled hands unmade him, stripping him bare and laying waste to what was left of Beleg’s feeble defenses. Fingertips blazed a fiery trail down the plains of his torso, mapping each dip and curve, as eager lips followed closely behind, claiming each new territory of skin with tender heat.

The coupling was rough, passionate and desperate. Turin mastered him completely, claiming his willing body like a conquering hero. And when at last they lay together, sated and spent, Beleg placed a tender kiss on his lover’s lips. “I love you,” he confessed.

“I know,” Turin replied, “and I love you. I always have.”

The next morning, Beleg woke clinging to the edge of the bed with a strong arm wrapped around his waist and a warm chest against his back. And he smiled.


	6. Last Chapter!

Chapter 6 – Eight weeks later

For ten blissful days, Turin and Beleg scarcely left the bed, leaving only to forage for food or indulge in a luxurious bath. It was only the pressing need of supplies and reinforcements along the north marches that finally drove Beleg out of Turin’s arms. They parted with passionate kisses and promises to meet up within a week’s time.

Beleg leaned back against an expansive oak and unwrapped a piece of lembas bread. How long he had been alone on the eastern boarder he could not remember. Mablung and the rest of the troops circled back north to head off an army of approaching Orcs, leaving him as the lone scout for the east. Turin was supposed to have joined him six weeks ago, but nobody had seen or heard from him in over a month, a fact that greatly worried Beleg and pissed him off to no end. The man knew the woods nearly as well as he did. For him to go missing meant that something was horribly wrong. It would be easy to let his mind roam to dark places, to entertain the worst, but if he dwelled on what might be, Beleg knew he would fall apart.

So lost was he in contemplation that he failed to hear the rustle of bushes and snapping of twigs that warned of the approaching men.

“Well, what have we here? An Elf, and a pretty one at that.” A stocky man with greasy yellow hair stepped into his path.

“Pretty?!” Beleg had been called many things in his long life but never pretty. “Butterflies are pretty,” he growled. “Do I look like a fucking butterfly to you?”

“You look like someone who has something I want.” From out of the woods stepped three more men, each one more rugged than the last. They all eyed Beleg’s pack hungrily. Theives.  
A pair of large hands grabbed Beleg from behind, and after a bit of a fight and at least one broken nose, the men tied him to a tree with a length of rope. 

The yellow haired man unclasped the pack and dumped the contents of it onto the ground. After a moment of poking through the Elf’s belongings, he growled with dissatisfaction. “There ain’t nothing of no value in it. Just food and bits of parchment.” He kicked at Beleg who dodged the blow. “Where’s the rest of it? Where’s your money?”

Beleg scowled. “I am a soldier. I carry no money, only what I need to survive. If you had more than two brain cells to rub together, you would know that.”

“That’s a lie! Elves are rich! I have seen the jewelry your kind wear! Tell me where the rest of it is!”

The man threw a punch aimed right at Beleg’s jaw, but Beleg saw it coming and ducked. The man’s fist connected with tree bark instead. “I told you, you bumbling fool, I have nothing of value! Are you deaf or just ignorant?!”

A smaller man with an angry scar over his right eye leaned in and jabbed the tip of his sword into Beleg’s chest. “He says he has nothing, boys. What do you think? Do I cut off a finger and see if that changes his mind?”

“What is the meaning of this?” At that moment, Turin approached from the rear, astonished at the sight of his friend held captive.

“We found this Elf and he claims to have no treasure,” said Scarface.

Turin’s eyes grew wide. “Beleg.” 

Beleg leveled a glare at him icy enough to freeze a charging warg. “Where. In. The. Name. Of. Mandos. Have. You. Been?”

Turin blinked then turned to his men. “Untie him, immediately! He is not to be touched by the likes of you ever again.” The men untied the rope, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and released him. 

Beleg ignored all of them and stormed over to where Turin stood. “Do you know how long I have been looking for you? Do you have any idea?! It’s been weeks, Turin. Weeks!” He grabbed Turin’s shirt by the collar and yanked him close. “You had better have a damned good explanation.”

Turin captured Beleg’s hands and held them tight. “I do.” Turning his eyes to the band of men he called, “Leave us. I will find you at sunset.”

Grumbling, the men remained behind, plotting a way to retrace the Elf’s steps in hopes of finding some hidden loot. Turin led Beleg further east along a hidden pathway. 

“We were supposed to meet over a month ago just outside the city. When you did not turn up, I assumed the worst.”

Turin stopped and turned to Beleg with a look of surprise. “You honestly do not know what happened?”

Beleg gave him a blank look. 

“I killed Saeros. It was an accident, but he is dead nevertheless.”

“What? How?!”

“I went to dinner the night after you left to return to the field. He seated himself at my table, directly across from me, and I should have realized he had me in his sights. From the moment dinner was served, he derided me. First he insulted my lineage, then my mother, then my skills on the battlefield, then my hygiene. It became more than I could bear. Finally, he pulled a comb from his pocket and asked if I knew how to use one. That was the final straw. I snapped and threw my goblet right at his head.” Turin gripped Beleg’s arm. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I swear to you I did not, but now I cannot return to Menegroth. Thingol will not welcome me back, nor will Saeros’ kin.”

“You don’t know that. Saeros had few relatives and even fewer friends. Some are probably relieved he is gone, and an accident is not a justifiable reason to banish anyone.”

Turin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I will not return.” 

“If you won’t return, neither will I.” Beleg gripped Turin’s shoulder and squeezed. “Wherever you are, that is where I belong.”

“I can’t ask that of you. I won’t let you give up your position as Marchwarden.”

“You aren’t asking and you have no say in the matter. I’m staying with you and that is that.” 

“But,” Turin began before Beleg silenced him with a finger to his lips.

“I promised you that I would not leave you, that I would always be here to embarrass and irritate you for the rest of your life. I fully intend to keep my word.” 

Turin gave in to a smile and brushed Beleg’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Then I will hold you to it.”

“And what of that ragged bunch of imbeciles who follow you around? Do you call those troops? We have a lot of training to do if we hope to kill any Orcs.”

Hand-in-hand they walked, planning training exercises and dreaming up new ways to invade the Orcish borders. The men proved easy enough to convince and by nightfall, the entire lot of them huddled round a small campfire, discussing the next day’s preparations.

As the night grew longer, the men drifted away from the fire to find a quiet spot to rest. Turin, too, slipped away from the group to unroll his bedding. Beleg joined him and placed his bedroll next to Turin’s. They eyed the separate bedrolls then turned to each other. 

“How should we handle this? The bedrolls are small, designed for one man each.” Turin crossed his arms over his chest and looked perplexed.

“Easy,” replied Beleg. He spread his own bedding on the ground and placed Turin’s blankets on top. “See? Double bedding.”

Turin’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, like Mablung’s bed roll. He said he used it as a grappling mat.”

“Is that what he calls it? He and his captain engage in all sorts of nocturnal activities but grappling is not one of them.” Beleg gave Turin a cheeky grin. “You aren’t very observant.”

“The only one I care to observe is you.” 

“Eru, you sound like a fourteen year old girl.”

Turin chuckled and pulled Beleg into an embrace. “I can’t help it. I’m lonely and cold and missed you terribly.

Beleg replied with a kiss so passionate that he felt Turin tremble in his arms. “No more talking.”

The next morning, Beleg awoke clinging to the edge of the bedroll with a pair of warm arms wrapped around him. In the darkest parts of the night, he would worry about the future, but not right now. In this moment, he was happy. He snuggled deeper into the embrace and smiled. 

~*~  
The End


End file.
